


Mine

by Selden



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 19:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15150395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selden/pseuds/Selden
Summary: They land with Gamora on top, her knee on Nebula’s spine. “Fight me, sister,” she breathes into Nebula’s ear. “Fight me, please.”In which Nebula fights, and wins.





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



When the others come back from the dust, Nebula spits into the sand and kills another crater-stalker. The communicator on her belt fizzes and flashes with transmissions – _we never believed this day would come_ ; _miracle from a backwater planet_ – until she uses her best hand to squeeze it into scrap.

Over the asteroid’s lumpy and close horizon, the stars shine enormous, almost too bright to bear.

Nebula tugs out the crater-stalker’s double heart. Then she climbs into her ship, and sets the coordinates for Earth.

 

\--

 

“I’m sorry,” says the Avengers’ witch, five days later. “There’s nothing I can do.” Her big brown eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she says. “I really am.”

Nebula tightens her grip on the witch’s throat. “Think again,” she says. “Your power could have destroyed an Infinity Stone,” she says. “You can affect their substance. You can bring my sister back.”

“I can’t,” says the witch. “The stones are gone. I can’t bring back the dead.” She sniffles. Tears spill out of her eyes and come down into her hair, which is only reddish. Not properly red. “I’ve tried,” she says. “Trust me, I’ve tried. My brother –”

“I don’t care about your brother,” says Nebula. “If you’re telling the truth, you’re of no use to me.” She squeezes down on the witch’s windpipe, and smiles. “Think hard,” she suggests.

The witch narrows her eyes.

Suddenly Nebula is hanging in mid-air, and the psych-cuffs she’d spent so many credits on are smoking fragments at the witch’s feet.

“Fuck you,” says Nebula. “Fucking fuck you. I’m going to pull out your eye. I’m going to pull out your guts. I’m going to take away everything you ever were or ever loved!”

The witch is still messy with tears. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she says. With a twitch of her fingers, Nebula is lowered to the ground.

Nebula snorts. The most obnoxious thing is that she suspects that the witch is telling the truth. She’s all chewed up with guilt and she wants to be a hero, probably because of that brother she mentioned. The dead one.

Too bad for the witch. She could have stopped Thanos and she failed. That doesn’t make her a hero. It makes her just like everybody else.

“If you can’t bring back the dead,” Nebula says, “who can?”

“No-one,” says the witch.

But it was worth it all along, waiting for her, waiting to see if she’d come back. Because, as she says it, she looks away. Looks down.

“You’re lying,” Nebula says. “You’re a liar who got your brother killed, aren’t you?”

The witch shakes her dull hair. “There’s no-one who can do it who would ever help you,” she says. “Hela would rather burn the world to dust than help us. Thor already tried.” Then she looks stricken, and holds out her hand, her fingers crooked.

She’s about to fuck with Nebula’s head, about to take the words she just said away. You can tell, by the way her face screws up with added guilt.

Nebula hits the exit switch on her transporter, and steps forward into the cabin of her ship.

“I knew you were a liar,” she says to the stale air. Then she makes for the controls and jumps to light-speed, just in case the witch is capable of chasing after her.

She can’t afford to lose those memories, not now. Not when she finally knows where to go.

 

\--

 

Nebula finds Death inside the mouth of a giant.

Asgard is a pit of smoke and flames and acrid, acid dark. Even inside her ship, Nebula can feel herself tarnishing; feel her repair mechanisms kicking into fidgety high gear. Her throat burns.

And the thunder-god’s sister is slashed and tattered, streaming fire and flesh, bracing herself inside the open jaws of a horned colossus, big as a mountain. One of her great black spears has pierced the roof of the giant’s mouth - it must be inches away from skewering his brain, from cracking his skull like an egg. The giant is pawing at the shaft with hands like shattered rocks, too broken-up to grip. But Hela is busy stopping the giant’s jaws from closing over her; the spear shivers and starts, but does not move. The giant’s huge, even teeth are slowly closing down.

Nebula observes this from her ship, even as it is torn apart around her by the roiling dark. That’s all right, though. She won’t need a ship, not where she’s going.

When the hull is ripped away under her, Nebula jumps.

She lands inside the giant’s mouth.

The smell is wet and sulphurous and rank. Hela is right in front of her, both arms straining above her head, her black hair plastered to her head with ichor and blood.

Still, the goddess of death smiles. “Well, well,” she says. “Who do we have here? A little tick-tock tin girl, come to lend a hand?”

Nebula folds her arms. “If I help you,” she says, “I’ll want something in return.”

Hela rolls her eyes. “Well, no shit,” she says. “What do you want, tin girl?”

“I want my sister back,” says Nebula. “She was a sacrifice to an Infinity Gem. The Soul Stone.”

Hela blinks at her. Slowly at first, then faster and louder, she begins to laugh. The giant’s jaws creak around them.

“Give me an answer,” says Nebula. “Right now.”

“Sure.” Hela stops laughing. “Oh, sure. I’ll do it. My absolute pleasure. But it’ll only work if you’ve got the goods. Tell me, tin girl, what will you do to get your sister back?”

Nebula shrugs, and reaches up. With both of them pushing, it takes only seconds for the giant’s lower jaw to crack and sag. Hela raises her fist, and the spear punches upwards, through his skull. Black ichor gushes down, and they leap free as the giant howls and sags and falls.

There’s nothing here but fire and darkness, and vast jagged outcrops of obsidian-black spears. They land on the flat of one vast blade, slick underfoot as ice.

Nebula smiles. “Anything,” she says.

Hela pouts. “That’s not much fun,” she says. “I was hoping for a little back and forth.”

“I didn’t come here to haggle. If you can’t do it, just say so.”

“Ah, reverse psychology!" Horns ripple out around Hela's head. Her wounds begin to seal themselves back up. "You must be really desperate. Tell me, why do you want your sister back so badly? From what I hear, the Mad Titan collected kids like a broke gambler hoards loaded dice. You must have other sisters.”

“Gamora’s special,” says Nebula. “I’m the only one who gets to kill her.” She feels a smile open up on her face like a scar. “She’s mine.”

Hela grins back, and cracks her neck. “Well, tin girl, that's a take on familial love I can at least respect,” she says. “So! Before I rebuild my realm and re-reclaim my birthright, you can have exactly what you asked for. I’m nice like that.”

Nebula pauses. “The catch?” she asks, flatly.

Hela shrugs. “You’ll need a true-love’s kiss to bring her back,” she says. “Fairy-tale rules, I’m afraid, tin girl. And none of that platonic sisterly love, either. I made this loophole long ago for a married couple, and – what can I say – I’ve always been the sentimental sort.”

And Death reaches forwards, pressing cold fingertips against Nebula’s open mouth.

“Enjoy your stay,” she whispers. “You’re mine now, girl. You and your poor dead sister.”

Nebula tries to bite. But there is nothing there.

 

\--

 

_“Come on,” says Gamora. “Come on. You think you can best me? You think you have a chance?”_

_They’re fighting with burn-knives, today. Father is watching._

_“Fight me,” says Gamora. “Fight me, sister.” Her knife whines through the air. The blade is so bright it leaves an afterimage, a wriggly line of blazing gold._

_“Oh, sister,” says Nebula. “Sister. I’m going to kill you slowly. I’m going to undo every inch of you.” She can see every move Gamora plans to make, slow as her knife in the air. She can see all of her sister, spread out before her like a map. She can win this._

_Nebula ducks under Gamora’s knife; jabs her elbow into her opponent’s side. She lets electricity gather in her palm; enough charge for the killing stroke. She turns._

_Gamora staggers, and swears, and brings the heel of her free hand up into Nebula’s throat.  
_

_Then there’s gold in the air, and something is wrong below Nebula’s ribcage. The air smells of burning meat. She’s on the floor. Gamora is on top of her, looking down._

_Someone is clapping, somewhere far above. “Satisfactory,” says their father. “If a trifle slow. Concentrate on your footwork, Gamora. I expect more from you.”_

_“Yes, father,” says Gamora. She’s still looking down at Nebula. “Fight me,” she whispers. Her hand comes up; wipes away something from Nebula’s face. “Fight me, sister.”_

_But Nebula can’t move. She’ll need to be repaired, again._

 

\--

 

Nebula’s diagnostics are down. The calculations which tick and flicker across her field of vision; the shivery gloss of colours from outside the visible spectrum – those are gone. Here, she sees the way she did long ago, when she was still a child.

Her other augmentations are still functional. She can still move. So she steps forward, down a corridor already half-familiar; through a great gaping open door.

And then she knows exactly where she is.

The land of the dead looks like their father’s throne room, if it had gone to ruin and was thick with dust. The air smells of ozone and old rot. Black pillars rise up overhead, scarred as if by blaster-fire. As if something raged here, long ago.

There’s nothing moving now. Nothing has moved in this dark place, it seems, for years.

Gamora is sitting in Thanos’ throne, very straight and small with her knees together. Behind her, galaxies wheel in the black depths of space like so much sugar-dust.

Nebula leans against a shattered pillar and regards her.

Gamora’s eyes are open; her chest rises and falls. She doesn’t turn to look. She doesn’t move.

“Well, I didn’t know _that’s_ what you were worried about,” Nebula says. Her voice falls short and dull into the dim still air, softened as if by snow or ash. “Taking the throne? Following in the footsteps of dear old dad?” She unfolds herself from the pillar and walks towards Gamora, scuffing up dust. “I wouldn’t concern yourself, my darling sister,” she says. “You haven’t got the power. Or the guts.”

Gamora makes no response.

“Or are you here to think about the blood on your hands? Without you, our father would never have completed his little set of trinkets.” Nebula stops in her tracks; cocks her head to the side. “He did it, you know,” she says. “He took his half. They fell away like sand. I saw them go.”

Nothing.

She shrugs. “They came back, of course. It only cost a handful of lives, or thereabouts. I wasn’t really paying attention to the details. Of course, the same can’t be said for all the people who died when they went in the first place. Ships fell out the sky, they say. Cities burned. Planet-wide life-support systems failed. Because of you.”

Still nothing.

Nebula crosses the rest of the distance at a run. “You should have left me there,” she says. She’s bending over Gamora now, her hands on her shoulders. She’s warm. Still warm. “You should have left me there,” she says again. “The way you always did before.”

Gamora moves.

Her face tilts upwards. “I couldn’t,” she says. Her voice is quiet and hoarse; she licks her lips. “Not you.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’ve finally come.”

Nebula steps back. “Yeah, well,” she says. “I thought I’d keep you guessing.”

But Gamora is still talking. “All the others came,” she says. She’s looking off into the distance, her face loose and sweet. “I thought it was odd when you didn’t show up.” She stands, slowly, fluidly, and reaches across to touch Nebula’s face. “I’m glad you did,” she says. “And you’re so warm. So real.” She sniffs. “Half the people who turned up were see-through, you know. My subconscious mind is most unsatisfactory when it comes to hallucinations, if you ask me.”

“I am real,” Nebula wants to say. But she doesn’t want to risk Gamora taking her hand away from her face.

“I even started to hear Peter’s stupid songs,” says Gamora. “I may even have sung them myself. Allegedly.” She drops her hand. “Thank fuck you aren’t really here,” she says.

“You sang?” Nebula grins despite herself. “Good thing there wasn’t anyone else here.”

“See, _that’s_ authentic.”

“I am authentic. I mean, I am here,” Nebula says. “I came to get you, sister.”

“Well. That’s what they all say.” Gamora looks away.

“We all tried,” Nebula finds herself saying. “Even Quill.” _He just didn’t keep trying_ , she stops herself from saying. “But I won,” she says instead. “You’re mine now.”

“Oh, am I?” Gamora smiles, slow and wide. The galaxies slide past. “Am I, now?”

 

\--

 

_This time, they’re fighting unarmed. Hand to hand._

_Gamora ducks and weaves. A lock of hair has fallen loose; is plastered messily across her cheek with sweat. Blood oozes, thick and green, from a cut on her arm._

_Nebula’s latest battle upgrades surround Gamora with a silvery host of ghost-selves, potential moves predicted precious milliseconds in advance. She can see just where Gamora will be. She can see her, really see her. She can –_

_She can fall._

_They both fall. Nebula had felt the floor cracking under them as they fought, but it was Gamora who had used it. Who had punched her way through solid stone. Who had turned, her and her echoing images, as they fell together through the dust and rubble which had once been the sparring-room floor. As Nebula’s vision filled up with swarming possibilities, with all the many many ways to fall. Who had turned, and reached out, and pulled Nebula close._

_They land with Gamora on top, her knee on Nebula’s spine. “Fight me, sister,” she breathes into Nebula’s ear. “Fight me, please.”_

_Father isn’t there today. The fight has been recorded, of course, for his perusal at a later date._

 

\--

 

“You’re mine,” Nebula says again.

Gamora looks at her. Her face could be carved from stone. From finest jade. In the tired light of the throne room, the silver lines across her cheekbones gleam.

For one horrible moment, Nebula thinks Gamora might be about to cry.

Instead, she sighs. “You know,” she says, “if you were really here, and you said that, I know exactly what I’d do to you, sister.”

“Oh?” says Nebula. “ _Do_ tell.” They’re about to fight. She can feel it.

Gamora steps forwards; raises her hands to cup Nebula’s face. She’s so close, Nebula can feel her breath against her lips.

“Fight me, sister,” says Nebula, softly.

Gamora jerks her forwards, and bites her lip, and her mouth opens against Nebula’s. Hot and sharp with teeth, and yielding as a wound. She’s kissing. They’re kissing. Because Nebula has her hands in Nebula’s black-red hair, hair that’s the colour of a world on fire. Gamora’s hands are clawing at her back. They’re breathing the same air. She knows Gamora’s taste.

Here, at the bottom of the universe, in the land of the dead, they are kissing.

“It’s you,” Gamora says against Nebula’s cheek. Her words tickle, and her lips are wet. “It’s you, Nebula. It’s really you.”

Nebula pulls her closer. “I told you so,” she says.

 

\--

 

_“I told you so,” says Gamora. She’s very young, almost too small for her great sword. They’ll grow into them, Father says. Before they do, the weight will make them strong. Father says a lot of things like that._

_“You’re lying,” says Nebula. She hefts her own sword, the hilt slippery with sweat._

_“I’m not. I’m going to fight you, and I’m going to win.”_

_“You’re not.” But Nebula can hear the uncertainty in her own voice. “You’re not!” Gamora is the only good thing which has happened to her in this terrible place. Training with her is one thing. Fighting her – really fighting her – is quite another._

_“I am,” says Gamora. “And you’re going to fight me back.” She circles Nebula, her form flawless. Her hands tense on the hilt, and she slashes out, low and fast. Their blades lock._

_Behind them, Nebula can hear Father talking to an advisor, his deep voice unhurried. Almost amused. Perhaps he isn’t watching. Perhaps, if she just laid down her sword –_

_“Fight me,” Gamora spits. “You stupid fool!” She twists her sword, and breaks away. “You have to fight me,” she says. “Please!”_

_Nebula shakes her head; opens her mouth to speak._

_Gamora’s blade comes down._

_It’s a neat stroke. Nebula’s arm ends in a line, as if that’s just the way it’s always been. But then, there’s such a lot of blood. The world sags and goes black._

_“You have to fight,” Gamora says._

_Nebula blinks away the darkness; claws at Gamora with her remaining hand. Hate fills her up like blood in one giant bruise._

_“Some spirit, then,” says Father, far away._

_Gamora’s saying something else. But Nebula can’t hear. She can’t do anything, right now, but hate._

 

\--

 

“Nebula,” says Gamora. Her hand flies to her lips. Her cheeks flush, slowly, dark deep green.

“If you say you’re sorry,” says Nebula, “I’ll kill you where you stand.”

“I’m not.” Gamora looks at Nebula. At her kiss-bitten lips. “Are you?”

Nebula rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she says. “You’ve been here long enough.”

Gamora pauses. “Just like that?” she asks. “We just walk out of here?”

“From here, I get the feeling that we can go anywhere we want. And when it came to getting you out, there was ever only one condition,” says Nebula. “It was never going to be a problem.” She holds out her hand.

Gamora takes it. “He’s still alive,” she says. “Isn’t he.” It isn’t really a question.

“He is. But we’re going to kill him, aren’t we?” Nebula sends a little shiver of electricity through her palm for emphasis.

Gamora shudders; bites her lip. Squeezes Nebula’s hand. “Yes,” she says. “We are.”

“Well then.” And Nebula turns and leads the way back to life, her sister’s hand in hers.

Love fills her up.

“We’re going to kill him,” she says. “And then we’re going to live.”

"Together," says Gamora, beside her. "We're going to live together. You're mine, Nebula. You came for me. You think I'll ever let you go?"

"Together." Nebula smiles in the dark like a knife. "Oh yes," she says. "Gamora, for once I know _exactly_ what you mean."

 

 

 


End file.
